Buffy in the City
by SoulVamp
Summary: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Caroline in the City crossover. Pure fluffy goodness.
1. Episode One

Buffy in the City Episode One  
Episode One: Clubbing Boys on the Head  
by SoulVamp  
Disclaimer: No characters are mine, except cursory passersby and what have   
you. Buffy people and Caroline people were lovingly created by others of   
more imagination.  
Notes: I used to write a lot of Caroline in the City fanfic many moons   
ago, all of which has been lost to various computer crashes and things. As   
a first foray into Buffy-fic, I figured I'd return to something I knew as   
a crossover. Lame? Yes, probably, and heavily borrows from the pilot   
episode of Caroline. Basically a goofy exercise in slacking off at work.   
More to come in series only if this inspires interest.   
***   
Buffy Summers was on the phone in her Manhattan loft, which was pleasantly   
cluttered with vases full of dried flowers and overstuffed furniture in   
warm earth tones. She tossed her long mane of ashy blond hair over one   
shoulder. "Okay, I get how many words for the ad? All right, it should say   
'Assistant needed for comic book artist.'" She paused. "No, it's not   
Spiderman. It's Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's a superhero thing, but   
it's, like, girl power and all that." She opened her mouth in slightly   
miffed anger. "Well, fine, meanie, I think your classifieds are a lame   
idea, too!"   
Buffy was young to be a comic book creator and artist -- a mere   
twenty-three -- , but she'd began drawing her namesake Fighter of Evil as   
strips in her college newspaper. They gained a mini-cult following, which   
led to a publishing deal, which led to, well, a slightly larger cult   
following, a cool pad in New York and just enough dough each month to   
break even. All in all, life was pretty good. Except that her primary   
friend and neighbor in town was a slacker slut, her boyfriend was... okay,   
her newly ex-boyfriend, was a goofball with commitment issues, and her   
best friend on the planet was off studying the Pagan arts in Jolly Olde   
England.   
Maybe life wasn't that good after all. Lately, Buffy had been feeling as   
though something was seriously lacking, and not just the fact that her   
last assistant quit, leaving our heroine a little jangly and overtaxed. It   
was something else, but she never could put her finger quite on it.   
Later that day, she began the nearly-unendurable process of interviewing   
potential assistants. One odd young man claimed to be the spawn of Satan,   
giving Buffy the heebie-jeebies, but a nifty idea for next month's issue.   
Needless to say, she swept him out as quickly as she could. It was   
slightly icky to have to invite these strangers into her home, but since   
her office and home were one and the same, she had no choice. Of course,   
she could always attempt a cool martial-arts move on anyone too scary, but   
that sort of thing seemed to work better for her alter-ego. The real-life   
Buffy was a tad less graceful.   
Then there was the applicant who was just a smidge too eager. Buffy didn't   
let the interview with the hyper woman get far before urging her into the   
hallway. "I've read every Buffy issue, I have every Buffy calendar, I just   
live for Buffy!" she said excitedly, oblivious that she was being shoved   
into the elevator by her potential employer.   
"Um, I do have more applicants coming by," Buffy gently told her.   
"Oh, Ms. Summers, you don't get it! I don't want to be your assistant, I   
want to be you!" The woman's grin was huge.   
Harmless, but in great need of medication, Buffy thought to herself.   
"Please go home," she said.   
"People even tell me I look like you!" the woman cried as the elevator   
doors shut. Buffy giggled at this, as the woman was five inches taller and   
a brunette. Not to mention pushing forty.   
"Hey!" called Faith as she exited the apartment next door.   
"Faith! I thought you were having a big gambling weekend!" Buffy scampered   
up and hugged her friend.   
"Yeah, I got back last night."   
"Did you clean up?" Buffy asked.   
"Mm, yeah, I guess you could say I found luck at the roulette tables."   
Faith smirked, and a darkly handsome guy slipped quietly out of Faith's   
apartment, planting a big wet kiss on her before trotting down the stairs.   
  
"Ah, Faith, I can always count on you for some vicarious thrills." The two   
young women entered Buffy's loft, where coffee began being prepared. Faith   
stretched out comfortably on the sofa.   
"So what's new with you, B?" Faith asked, blowing on her cup of   
caffeinated goodness.   
Buffy sighed, plopping down next to her. "Xander and I split."   
"What?! No way! He's, like, the ultimate nice guy, and as much as I avoid   
that type like the plague, you seem to go for it. What happened?"   
"Oh, I know he's a total sweetie, but... it's weird," Buffy mused, gazing   
off dreamily. "He's kind of immature, and... stuff just didn't feel right,   
you know?" Buffy abruptly slammed down her coffee mug and stood up,   
pacing. "I'm seriously going to take a major break from dating."   
Suddenly, the intercom buzzed. Buffy went over to answer it. "Yes?" she   
said into the speaker.   
"Spike Williams," came a tinny voice. "I'm here about the job."   
"Come on in," Buffy replied. She pressed the entrance button.   
"Spike? What kind of a name is Spike?" Faith asked with a laugh.   
Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's nothing. You should've met Devil Boy."   
Faith bounced off the sofa and headed for the door. "I gotta jam, got   
stuff to drink, boys to torture, but you have a good day."   
"Not likely. I have a meeting with Xander this afternoon at the publishing   
office."   
"You know, I warned you not to get laid where you get paid."   
"Yeah, well, your conquests are all unemployed."   
Faith smirked. "If you weren't my friend, B, I'd seriously consider giving   
you the stake just like one of your comic book demons."   
Buffy bared non-existant fangs and hissed at Faith, then both girls   
dissolved into laughter.   
Soon after Faith left, Buffy heard a tentative knock at her door. When she   
opened it, she found herself staring into the surreally blue eyes of a   
slender man dressed all in black with a shock of platinum blond hair   
bleached into crispy submission. For some inexplicable reason, she found   
herself unable to speak.   
"Spike," the man said after a moment. "Williams. We had a truly meaningful   
conversation over your intercom." He had a thick English accent, Cockney   
tinged, and one side of his lip curled up in a disarming half-smile,   
half-snarl.   
"Of course," Buffy said, snapping out of whatever weird spell she was   
under. "Come in." She held the door open for him and watched him casually   
take a seat. "So, do you know my comic book?" she asked him. She noted   
with slight irritation that he put his clunky combat-style boots up on her   
coffee table.   
"I think one of my mates has your calendar. It's that woman in a rubber   
cat suit, right?"   
Buffy's face fell. "No, that would be Catwoman. Hence the whole   
woman-in-a-cat-suit motif."   
"Bollocks, I'm so embarrassed," Spike replied in a deliberately sarcastic   
monotone. "Well, I s'pose you'll be wanting to check out my specs, then."   
He handed Buffy his portfolio. She flipped through it, pages and pages of   
slides of beautifully distrubing abstract paintings, and a resume that   
would put Picasso to shame.   
"You know you're like totally overqualified. I just need somebody to do   
some coloring, lettering, maybe run a few errands, stuff like that," she   
told him. "This is a pretty tiny, low-tech operation."   
"I know bloody well I'm, as you say, 'like totally overqualified'."   
"Why do you want this job, then?"   
"Well, you know, I've grown rather fond of doing those simple things in   
life, like eating and not being homeless. What they don't tell you in   
university when you sign on to study art is that you can't make a living   
at it 'til after you're all dead and dusty." He offered Buffy his snarly   
smile again. "Bites, don't it?"   
"Very much so." Buffy abruptly sat down on the arm of the sofa, feeling   
slightly dizzy. Must be coffee and stress, she thought, suspecting it   
really wasn't. She cleared her throat. "Well, ah, Mr. Williams, I have a   
few more interviews, but I'll call you."   
Spike took the hint, pulled his legs off the table, and stood up. "That's   
quite all right, I know you won't call." He plucked his portfolio out of   
Buffy's hands and started for the door.   
"What?" Buffy asked, a little disappointed.   
"Look, I know the drill. I'd be rather grateful if you'd just put me out   
of my misery so I don't have to wait around wasting my time."   
"Oh, no, Mr. Williams, I really will call you!" Buffy hopped up and   
blocked the door so he couldn't leave. What am I doing? she thought, then   
realized this guy was probably her best applicant.   
A real artist, and really kind of...   
She shook this little inappropriate thought away before it had a chance to   
fully form. They stood there a moment more, looking at each other again,   
Spike with one eyebrow raised a little in hopeful expectation. He looked   
almost boyish.   
"Okay, Mr. Williams, I'll give you a shot," Buffy finally said, smiling   
perkily.   
The eyebrow came back down, and Spike was suddenly all brusque business.   
"Right, then, I don't come in early, I don't do overtime, and I simply   
must have two hour lunches." He looked quickly at his watch. "It's one   
o'clock now, I'll see you at three."   
And then he was out the door, Buffy totally dumbfounded.   
"Nice working for you," she muttered to herself.   
***   
Buffy's hands were sweating as she approached the office door marked   
"Xander Harris, Graphic Novels Division." She blew into her hand and   
smelled it to check her breath, pulled her skirt down a little, then   
thought better of it. Make him suffer a little, she decided, and hitched   
it back up. A final fluff of her hair, and she was ready for battle. She   
knocked on the door, then entered without waiting for a response from   
within.   
"Hi," Xander said.   
God, he looked so cute in his suit, Buffy thought. No, no, bad! Not   
boyfriend anymore, just business things only from now on!   
"Hi," Buffy said, her voice squeaking unintentionally. She squinted in   
slight embarrassment, smiled nervously. "Wow, so, um, could this be more   
uncomfortable?" she laughed a little.   
"Maybe, if we were both naked and my mom was here," Xander replied dryly.   
Buffy didn't laugh at his little joke, because the thought of him naked at   
all, mom or not, was still a little bit of a mixed image of hot sexy   
fantasy and sad wistful thought of losing seeing-Xander-naked priviledges.   
She cleared her throat. "Hey, look, let's just get this work type stuff   
over with, and we can attempt to avoid each other until after the cloud of   
Post-Breakup Sludge has passed, hopefully to be swiftly followed by the   
Pre-Friendship Professionalism, and then..."   
"The Post-Professional Friendship?" Xander asked, looked bemused.   
"Sure. Yes, but, ah, right now, we're still..."   
"Cloudy Sludge. Got it. Yeah, so, what do you have to show me for the   
cover art?"   
Buffy unzipped her portfolio, and Xander came out from behind his desk to   
get a better look. At the artwork, too. Buffy could suddenly feel his   
breath on her neck. "Nice," Xander said. "I like this one."   
"This cover?" Buffy asked, tapping one of the pieces.   
"The cover's good, but..." Xander just barely nudged her earlobe with his   
nose. "Why did you end it?" he asked, almost in a whisper.   
"Xander!" Buffy put the artwork down. "Come on, can we please not do this   
now?"   
"Yes, we can not do this now, but we could also do something else now..."   
Buffy elbowed him in the stomach. Gently-ish, but hard enough to make him   
back up a foot.   
"I ended it because ever since you broke up with what's her name --"   
"Anya."   
"Anya." Buffy said her name as though it were an insult. "Yes, Anya. Ever   
since you broke up with Anya, you've been afraid of commitment, and even   
though you have this great little job thing going here, you know you only   
got it because of your father, not because of anything like skills or   
perserverence or character or --"   
"Okay! Okay!" Xander held up his hands as if to attempt to ward off the   
Buffy's words. "Yes! I admit I'm a total underachiever and a wuss and...   
and..." He approached her again, now that her wrath had simmered down to a   
smaller mini-rage. "And I can't stop thinking about you, Buff. I miss   
you."   
"Xander..." She allowed him to come closer and begin to lean in for a   
kiss, when they were interrupted by Xander's secretary...   
Anya.   
"Whoopsie!" she said, noting the proximity she discovered Buffy and Xander   
in. "I will very much be getting right out of your hair, Xan, er, Mr.   
Harris, but, ah, yes. Phone. Important. Mr. Harris The Elder, line three."   
She nodded, blushing, in Buffy's direction. "Lovely to see you again, Ms.   
Summers," she said with a mixture of embarrassment and bitchiness, an odd   
combo Anya was particularly adept at.   
"Oh, the feeling is mutual," Buffy rejoined, but Anya had already shut the   
door. She turned back to Xander. "Clearly you have... work... or at least,   
your dad does, so, yeah, I'm gonna get... gone."   
"No, wait, Buffy, look, you want to grab some dinner? Just friends? See if   
we can get past this whole Cloudy Sludge debacle?"   
Buffy considered this a moment. "Just friends?" Xander nodded. "Okay," she   
said, "how 'bout tonight?"   
Xander immediately cringed. "Ooo, no can do on that one, Buff, I've got   
a... plan. Plans. I have plans."   
"Plans? Of the date variety, perhaps?"   
Xander looked down at his desk. "Kinda sorta."   
A brief moment of awkward silence was piercingly broken by Buffy,   
laughing, a little too loudly. "Oh, god, I almost forgot, I have a date,   
too! Tonight! Geez, that would have been bad, forgetting I had this...   
scorching date planned! So, yeah, no big at all, you and I can hang some   
other time!"   
She forced herself to stand up straight as she turned and began to cross   
to the door.   
"Where are you going?" Xander asked, his voice sounded slightly wounded.   
Buffy, her back to him, grinned before turning back around.   
"The Bronze."   
"Aw, um, eek, that's, like, where I'm taking Nancy. It might be a little   
weird to run into each other..."   
Buffy shrugged. "'S okay, my date and I'll just stay at my place."   
"No!" Xander said. "I mean..." He laughed nervously. "We should be adult   
enough to be okay with running into each other. In a public place.   
Where... groping is only socially permitted to go to a certain level and   
no actual sexual contact can occur."   
Buffy smirked. "At least not out in the obvious open." She picked up her   
portfolio.   
"Ta!" she called merrily as she left, being sure to slam the door behind   
her.   
Hard.   
***   
Spike was busily at work on Buffy's latest book, coloring, lettering, and   
basically being completely bored out of his mind. Across the desk, Buffy   
sighed heavily. When Spike failed to look up, she sighed again more   
heavily. "Golly, Buffy, what's wrong?" she said, imitaking Spike's accent.   
"Oh, nothing, Spike, but thanks for asking."   
"D'you want me to stick around?" Spike asked without looking up, "or do   
you want to be alone with the voices in your head?"   
"Spike, don't you ever just like to talk?"   
Spike finally looked up, as though seriously considering the question.   
"Eh, no. No, not really." He returned to his work.   
"Look, if you will just let me prattle a little, I'll pay you extra."   
He immediately dropped his pencil on the desk, sat back with arms folded,   
looked astonishingly attentive. "Get it all out, then. I'm, what's it,   
yes, I'm here for you."   
"That's convincing."   
"Just spill it, blondie."   
Twenty minutes later, and Spike had been filled in on all the decidedly   
un-sordid details of the Saga of Buffy and Xander, not to mention Buffy's   
white lie about having a date.   
"So, what am I supposed to do when I have to be at the Bronze, all clearly   
dateless?!" Buffy whined, dropping her head onto the desk in despair.   
"I'm afraid your time is up, dear patient. That means it's time for old   
Spikey to be released from servitude." He stood up from his chair and   
began to put on his coat.   
"But... but... what am I supposed to do?" Buffy asked. Then she noticed   
Spike's work. "Hey, you didn't finish the issue."   
He shrugged. "I'll be back in your employ at ten tomorrow. I'll get it   
done straight off."   
"Normally, that'd be fine, but we're on deadline." Buffy went to her purse   
and fished out her spare key. "Take the stuff with and bring them back   
when you're done. Shouldn't take more than an hour, really."   
Spike sighed. "I had all kinds of fun scheduled."   
"Torturing small children?" Buffy asked.   
Spike took the key in a huff. "You're a buzzkill, Summers."   
Faith bounded in abruptly. "Hey, B, no go on finding you a fix-up. Sorry,   
I gave it my best."   
"That's okay, thanks for trying."   
Faith noticed the strange man putting sketches into his portfolio. Her   
gaze swept from face to crotch and back again. "Who are you, tall blond   
and slightly creepy?" she asked with a flirtacious smile.   
Unenthusiastically -- but why? she thought -- Buffy said, "Faith, this is   
Spike."   
"Ah, the new assistant with the weird name."   
"Ah, the annoying slut from next door. This one," Spike said pointing to   
Buffy, "talks. A lot."   
"Wow, he's bitchy," Faith said. "Good hiring practices, girl."   
Having collected all his things together, Spike headed quickly for the   
door. Faith nudged Buffy, gave her a pointed look. Buffy, as though   
something had just dawned on her, began to go after him. "Hey, Spike, want   
to earn some overtime and do me a fav--"   
"Not a bloody chance in hell," he said without stopping. Buffy shut the   
door, leaning heavily against it.   
"What'm I gonna do?" she moaned.   
Faith shrugged. "Pick up a guy when you get there. Tell him what's up,   
he'll go along, and maybe you'll wind up luckier than you thought."   
"I can't do that!" Buffy replied, mildly scandalized.   
"Well, then, pick up a guy beforehand."   
"It's not the where or when I pick the guy up that's the problem, it's the   
whole picking up a guy concept in general," Buffy explained. "I'm not like   
you, Faith, I can't just club some poor boy on the head and drag him back   
to my cave."   
"But I can," Faith said with a grin. "Just this once, I'll drag him back   
to your cave."   
***   
An hour later, and Faith reappeared at Buffy's door, a fish-eating grin on   
her face and a small piece of paper in her hand.   
"I got digits, B. I got digits from a hot hunk o' man, and he's all   
yours." With much ceremony, she set the paper in Buffy's hand.   
"Where? How? Wow, that was quick!"   
"Remo's, a little eye contact and flattery-chattery, and of course it was   
quick... I work fast."   
"I'll say." Buffy examined the paper. "Riley?"   
"Riley Finn, military jock type, probably a frat boy in a former life.   
Cute, dumb, but most importantly, he'll get the job done." Faith made for   
the fridge. "You can thank me by letting me steal all your beer." She   
rummaged around inside. "Rolling Rock?! Holy crap, girl, could you be any   
more square?!"   
Buffy was on the verge of asking Faith exactly why they were friends, but   
thought better of it looking at the hastily-scribbled name and number. Not   
many pals would do this, and hey, this Riley guy... as Faith said, Buffy   
might wind up luckier than she thought.   
***   
The Bronze was relatively well-lit for a change, since it was -- somewhat   
unfortunately -- open mic night. A boy with bright orange hair strummed   
away at a battered guitar onstage, singing something about full moons and   
lost loves. Buffy sauntered in alone, as she and Riley had agreed on the   
phone to meet at 8. She found a table and checked her watch. 7:50. He just   
better get here, she thought, before...   
"Hey, Buff!"   
She looked up. "Xander!" Buffy struggled to smile, but the result was more   
pained than pleased.   
"Nancy, this is my friend Buffy Summers and... her... date. So you   
indulged your Invisible Man fetish, huh?"   
"He's on his way," Buffy assured him.   
Nancy was a lean brunette who looked more than a little bored. "So, you   
draw comic books?" she asked Buffy with as much politeness as she could   
muster. Which wasn't much.   
"Yes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Do you read it?" Buffy asked.   
"God, no. Comic books are for loser teenage boys with no life and bad   
taste," Nancy sniffed.   
"So probably all your ex-boyfriends must be into it, then," Buffy replied.   
  
***   
Spike quietly entered Buffy's loft without turning on the lights. He   
dropped the now-completed work onto her drawing table. "Taskmaster," he   
whispered, but punctuated the remark with a little smile. As he turned to   
go, the phone rang, and Buffy's chirpy voice announced through the   
answering machine speaker that callers should leave a message and "Have a   
nice day!"   
Spike paused. I shouldn't listen, he thought, which made him all the more   
tempted to stay and wait to hear the message.   
"Hi, it's Riley Finn, Faith's, um, friend. Hey, I'm really super sorry...   
I guess you've already left, but I can't meet you tonight. I tried to call   
the Bronze --"   
Suddenly a female voice cut in. "Riley, who're you calling?"   
"Honey, it's nobody, just --"   
"You're on your way to meet some other woman, aren't you?"   
"Just hang up the phone, Harmony! Sorry, Buffy, I'll call you later!"   
The machine clicked off. Spike beamed with devilish glee. "This officially   
beats an evening of torturing small children."   
***   
A waitress approached Buffy's table as she fidgeted nervously. It was   
nearly a quarter after 8. "Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked.   
"Huh? Uh, sure, I'll have a Rolling... No. No, on second thought, I'll   
have a --" She felt a small tap at her shoulder and whipped around.   
"Spike!" she said, totally surprised. "What the hell --"   
He took a chair from Buffy's table, spun it on one leg, and straddled it   
backwards. "Scotch, neat," he told the waitress, "and the lady will have   
a..."   
Buffy was still looking at Spike with complete confusion. "Draft?" she   
said tentatively.   
Spike blanched. "No, no, she'll have a Guinness." The waitress nodded and   
left.   
"I will?" Buffy asked.   
"Trust me, dove, you'll thank me later," Spike said. He pulled the ashtray   
on the table closer and retrieved a pack of menthols from the pocket of   
his jacket.   
Now more annoyed than confused, Buffy tipped her head and clenched her   
teeth. "So, Spike, please, sit down, horn in on my date, order me drinks,   
stink up my air, and generally --"   
"Save your arse."   
"Excuse me?!"   
Spike lit a cigarette, took a long drag. The waitress returned with their   
drinks. "Thanks, luv," he said to her with a wink. The waitress smiled   
shyly and scurried away. Spike held out his glass to Buffy's, which   
remained on the table. "Cheers...?" When Buffy continued to scowl, Spike   
shrugged and downed his drink in one gulp.   
Buffy watched him swallow, forgetting for a second why she was angry...   
right! Yes! Interloper!   
"Spike..."   
"Riley isn't gonna show," he said.   
"What?"   
"I was dropping off your work, which, by the way, you're welcome, and he   
called while I was there."   
Just like Faith to get an unreliable guy. "What dumb-ass excuse did he   
come up with?" she asked, dejected.   
"I'm sure it woulda been a whopper, but his wife cut him off."   
"He's married?!"   
Spike chuckled. "Doubt it'll last."   
"Hi," said a voice to Spike's right. He turned, a bland-looking young man   
with dark hair stood above him. "How are you? Xander Harris."   
"Spike Williams." Spike reluctantly shook hands with Xander.   
"Spike's my --" Buffy began.   
"Lover," Spike interjected uneasily. Buffy's eyes turned saucer-sized, and   
Spike gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a smoldering kiss that   
left exciting little tingles coursing through her. "Sorry, ah, my   
little... cream... puff... I would've got her earlier but I was in...   
class... all day. Those med students sure as hell need help dissecting   
corpses." He gave Buffy a strange nervous grin, then turned back to   
Xander. "So, join us, mate?"   
Xander stood there with his mouth open, not quite believing what he'd just   
seen. "No, thank you," he finally managed haughtily. "I've got to get back   
to Nancy." He stalked off.   
"Spike, I-I don't know what to say!" Buffy said, resisting as best she   
could some nameless urge that was swiftly turning her mind to prurient   
matters.   
"Whatever you say, don't thank me, Summers," Spike replied, lighting   
another cigarette. "I'm still on the clock, and I'm seeing several more   
drinks on your tab before the night is through. Expensive ones."   
***   
"So, Paris was pretty much a wretched scene, but I didn't want to hang   
around there anyway, what with Dru leaving me," Spike told Buffy as the   
two of them rode up the elevator and exited in front of the door to her   
loft.   
"She must've really broken your heart," Buffy said, her voice all dreamy   
sadness.   
Spike reluctantly nodded. "She was The One, you know? Or at least I used   
to think so," he said quietly.   
"Gosh."   
Buffy and Spike looked at each other. His eyes were softer now, his whole   
demeanor more real and almost tender... was this the same rude guy who   
walked into her life just twelve hours ago?   
The elevator doors opened and Xander appeared in the hallway. "Oh, hi. I,   
ah, tried to call you, Buffy, but you didn't answer, so I thought you guys   
were, maybe..."   
"Shagging like mad ferrets in heat?" Spike asked. From sweet to bastard in   
two seconds flat, Buffy noted. This was intriguing.   
"Or something," Xander said, deliberately not looking at Spike. "But,   
you're not..."   
Feeling ornery, Buffy chimed in. "Not shagging like mad ferrets in heat?"   
Spike gave her a quick glance of surprise -- slightly aroused surprise, in   
fact.   
Xander gritted his teeth against the repetition of the phrase, and plunged   
ahead. "I figured I should return your key." He took it out of his pocket   
and held it up triumphantly to Spike. "I have a copy of her key!" he told   
him spitefully.   
Spike held his up, too. "So do I. Well, what do you know. Wonder what else   
we have in common, mate."   
Xander clenched and unclenched his fists, looked from Buffy to Spike and   
back again. "This was clearly a mistake. I'm leaving."   
Seeing Xander so upset, Buffy bit her lip, her face now belying her sudden   
worry and guilt at the ruse.   
"No, stay, man," Spike said, the cruel tone gone now. "I'm just leaving.   
Early... surgery... or, hell, whatever." He pushed the elevator button,   
and the doors slid open. "See you tomorrow, Buffy."   
When the doors shut, Spike fell against the back wall of the elevator car   
and let loose a heavy, pent-up sigh.   
***   
Xander and Buffy stood in the hall together, neither one looking at the   
other. "How'd you meet him?" Xander asked.   
"Xander, no, you don't get it. It wasn't true," Buffy admitted. "Spike's   
not my new boyfriend, he's my new assistant."   
"Then why..."   
"I didn't want you to think you were the only one who was over... us."   
"Buffy..." Xander finally looked up at her. "If I was over us, I wouldn't   
have ended my own date early."   
Buffy looked at him, wondering what the right thing to do was. She'd   
shared so much with Xander... was it really fair to not give him another   
chance?   
Was Xander The One after all?   
"Do you want some coffee?" she asked.   
***   
Spike left Buffy's apartment building and started down the sidewalk toward   
the subway station. Something made him stop in his tracks and look up to   
the second floor, where he spotted the light streaming from Buffy's   
windows.   
As he looked up, the light turned off.   
Spike looked away, staring off into space. He stood there motionless, then   
shook his head firmly.   
"Damn you, blondie, get the hell out of my head," he whispered.   
He lit a cigarette and continued for home.   
Home 


	2. Episode Two

Buffy in the City Episode Two  
Episode Two: Big Bad... Backache  
by SoulVamp  
Disclaimer: No characters are mine, situations not quite mine, either.   
Buffy and Caroline are the brainchilds of people who get paid to be   
creative.  
Notes: Feedback is thoroughly encouraged. Again, not sure how many of   
these I'll wind up doing or how often, but they're quick and relatively   
painless. Plots in future may deviate more wholly from Caroline in the   
City, but for now I'm having tons of fun, particularly with Spike, of   
course. Romance will pick up, but this one's kind of more pure rampant   
silliness. Enjoy.  
***  
Buffy and Xander's reconciliation was abrupt but still tentative. For the   
past month, she'd decided to take him back on a "trial basis only," yet   
still felt guilty about having a basically hormonal weakness for the boy.   
He was somebody she could fall into bed with and not worry that he was   
some unsafe hellion, but having this nebulous, is-this-going-anywhere   
relationship did perturb her when she thought about it too much.  
They'd spent a relaxing evening together, woke up, and headed for a   
friendly tennis match. When they returned to Buffy's loft, Spike was   
already busily at work.  
"Oh, Spike, sorry, our game ran long," Buffy said when she saw him perched   
at the desk.   
"Quite all right, blondie, I've been entertaining myself by rummaging   
through your CDs and smashing the crummy ones to bits." He looked up.   
Xander stood behind Buffy in the doorway. A tiny pang hit Spike, but he   
tried not to let on. "Honestly, Enya? Summers, what the hell were you   
thinking?"  
"Ha ha," Buffy said. "Funny not."  
"Oo, I didn't please the crowd. How shall I ever get over not achieving my   
dreams of comedic stardom," Spike said, turning his attention back to   
Buffy's latest comic book. "Steffi Graff, can you manage to pull yourself   
away from Andre Agassi there and join me in the fun-filled world of actual   
productivity?"  
Buffy pouted and turned to Xander. "Mr. Williams says I have to finish my   
homework," she said. "Can I meet you after school?"  
Xander smiled. "Sure thing. Damn, I'm gonna have naughty schoolgirl   
fantasies all day now."  
"Mmm, will you give me detention, Principal Harris?" Buffy asked with a   
giggle.   
They kissed, a little too long for Spike's comfort. He picked up his   
pencil sharpener and set it down with a deliberately loud thud. "I...   
am... feeling... so... sexually harrassed!" he said with a mocking whine.   
"I don't think my virgin eyes can handle seeing so much sinfully-displayed   
affection!"  
Buffy and Xander broke their kiss. Buffy shot Spike a mildly annoyed look.   
  
"Sorry, Spike, just can't keep my hands off your boss," Xander said   
affably. "Must get back to work myself anyway. Buff, I'm sure you'll beat   
me next time." He started to leave, but Buffy, mouth agape, stopped him.  
"Hey, tough guy, what's that supposed to mean? We didn't finish that last   
set!"  
Xander smiled pityingly at her. "That's so cute, you're competitive! I   
never knew that. It's okay to admit defeat."  
"An unfinished set does NOT count!" she insisted. "Ask Spike."  
"Swizerland here, neutrality in effect," Spike said in a singsong voice.  
"Ha! So it's a tie!" Buffy announced triumphantly.  
"No, more like a rematch!" Xander retorted.  
"Pardon the help, but don't you have to get this issue to press tonight?"   
Spike asked. "Not fair if you lot get to play, while I'm missing my soaps   
to come slave in your sweatshop."  
Buffy grinned at him. "I'm the boss, I make the rules."  
"This place feels very oppressive. I think I'll become a Marxist and hold   
an uprising," Spike said.  
"Listen, Mr. Deadline no fun poppyhead, it'll just take a little while,   
I'll be right back, 'cause Xander's going to get beaten quite quickly this   
time."  
Behind her back, Xander silently gasped in mock horror.  
"Fine, go, enjoy the... fresh air and sunshine," Spike said, shuddering.   
The couple left, and once he heard the door safely click behind them, he   
ambled to the sofa, got comfy, and flipped on the television. "Lovely," he   
said with a smile. "Rafe's come back for Allison, bring on obligatory the   
romp in the sack, kids."  
***  
Several hours later, Spike's early afternoon of soap opera watching over,   
he suddenly realized Buffy had yet to return. Growing a bit worried, he   
tried to focus on getting as much work done as he could without her, but,   
unable to concentrate, finally called the health club. "Yeah, trying to   
get hold of Buffy Summers. She's out on one of your tennis courts, been   
there a dreadful long time," he said into the phone. "She's, ah, rather   
vertically challenged, little sprig of a thing, a dishwater blonde, and   
she's there with a bloke, rather vacant-in-the-head look about him."   
The door swung open abruptly, Xander entering with Buffy cradled in his   
arms. Spike hung up the phone.  
"Please be gentle!" Buffy whined at Xander. "Quick, on the floor!" Xander   
carefully put her down.  
"If you two simply must have it off right now, I'm going to lunch," Spike   
said. Which I'll quickly lose if I think too much about them together, he   
thought.  
"No, no, Spike, I threw my back out." Buffy said with a whimper of pain.  
"We've been in the ER," Xander added.  
"Didn't you tell the doctors you were on a deadline?" Spike asked,   
annoyed... but a little concerned about the tiny figure on the floor,   
wincing and grimacing.  
"Yeah, but the lady with the barbeque fork in her head had a wedding."   
Buffy looked up at her assistant, noticing even through her pain that this   
little attempt at humor was ignored in favor of a look of worry. Probably   
just wants to get work done, she thought. "Don't worry, I never miss   
deadlines," she assured him.   
"Buffy, I'm sorry, I've so got an important meeting, totally gotta get   
back," Xander said. "Will you be okay? I'll call you later." He patted her   
on the head and left.  
"No kiss?" Buffy said sadly at the closed door.  
"All right, if you insist," Spike smirked.  
"Boy, if this were the Gong Show, you'd so be offstage by now, buster,"   
Buffy said, then winced again. "Ee, pain, bad."  
"You sure you're up to work today, pet? I could ring the printer and see   
if --"  
"I can do it!" Buffy insisted. "Just help me over to the desk."  
Spike held out an arm to Buffy, who grasped it. He began to pull her up as   
gently as he could. "Pain!" she squeaked. He let go of her arm, studied   
the predicament, approached from the other side and tried to prop her up   
by her shoulderblades. "Worse pain!" she said, frustrated with her   
weakness. Spike tsked in annoyance, took one edge of the throw rug she was   
lying on, and pulled it toward the drawing table, Buffy riding along   
comfortably on the makeshift sled.  
***  
Spike watched uneasily as Buffy pulled herself up from the rug, one hand   
supporting her lower back, her whole body bent like a troll, heading for   
the refrigerator.  
"Buffy, no, back down, girl," Spike instructed her. "You'll just hurt   
yourself worse. What's so important?" He got up and helped her ease   
herself to the floor again, where her drawing pad was laid out, precious   
little actually drawn.   
"Ice," she whimpered.  
"Ice, yes, m'lady." Spike saluted. "Anything else?"  
"A giant hammer applied liberally to head 'til coma is induced would be   
nice," she said, at this point the pain so bad she was only half-kidding.  
Spike stuck his head in the freezer. Ice, ice, no ice... how hard was it   
to fill the little trays back up? Spike thought. Something else would have   
to do for Her Majesty.  
Spike returned to Buffy and propped something bulky but pleasingly frozen   
behind the small of her back.  
"What on earth?"  
"It's a leg of lamb," Spike explained. "Out of ice, bad housekeeper."  
Buffy giggled in dizzy, disconnected little chokes. "How kind of you.   
Nobody ever set me on top of a leg of lamb."  
"Yeah, well, in some cultures this would mean we're married," Spike said.  
The joke was out before he had a chance to think, and when he did...   
"Right, back to grindstone with the nose I go," he said. He avoided   
looking at her for a while as he worked.  
Not ten minutes later, Buffy was struggling back up again. "What did I   
tell you about the getting up, bit? God, you're worse than my infirm   
grandmum!" Spike said, crouching down to be on eye level with his   
employer.   
"You have a family? Funny, I thought you were grown in a petrie dish   
somewhere."  
Spike looked slightly injured. "Don't mock the Gran," he said. "She may be   
a hundred, but she could take your whingey self on in a heartbeat. What is   
it this time, anyway?"  
"A soda," she said guiltily.  
"That's it?"  
"Yeah..."  
"Don't cause permanent tendon damage just for a fizzy drink, little one."   
Spike returned to the fridge. "No soda."  
"No soda?!" she cried.  
"You got some green floaty stuff in a jar, flat beer, and..." Spike picked   
up a soggy carton of milk and examined it. "Sodden nasties, blondie, they   
found this kid three months ago!" he gasped.  
Buffy was deeply entrenched in petulant mode. "I want soda, damnit."  
"Your uncanny ability to beautifully express your needs even in a time of   
crisis is overwhelmingly poetic."  
"Cut me some slack, and limit the sarcasm, Spike. I'm sure you lose   
maturity points when you're injured or otherwise incapacitated," Buffy   
said.  
Spike cocked his head. "Can't say as I recall ever gettin' banged up."  
"Didn't they have schoolyard bullies back in London?" Buffy asked, trying   
to picture Spike as a gangly teenager.  
Spike grinned mischeviously. "Yeah. Me."  
A brief, flurrying knock at the door, and Faith was inside, pulling a   
hesistant Anya along. "Does THIS have a right to be here, B?" Faith asked,   
pointing to the cringing Anya.  
Buffy frowned. "To what do I owe this grand surprise?"  
"Our messanger was off today, so I had the good luck to be the one to   
bring you your monthly fan mail," Anya explained with a mild scowl. "Why   
are you on the floor? That cannot be good for your back, you know."  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'll try to remember that, thank you ever so   
much." Anya handed her a small pile of envelopes. "Wow! This is more than   
usual."  
"Don't get too excited, superheroine. It's all from the same person. But   
if he gets paroled, I'm sure he'll write more often." Anya roughly removed   
her arm from Faith's grip and skipped out with a flourish.  
"Why are you lying on a frozen hunk of meat?" Faith asked.  
"Oh, that's where your New Year's Eve date went!" Buffy smirked. "Ice.   
None. Lamb cold. Good."  
"Did you hurt yourself, hon?" Faith knelt down next to her friend. "Go up   
and get some rest. Give Morbid the Magnificent here a day off."  
"Morbid the Magnificent is trying to keep Princess Annoying on deadline,"   
Spike explained.  
"Faith, do you have any soda?" Buffy asked pleadingly.  
"Dunno. You got any?"  
"No," she answered sadly.  
"Then I'm soda-free as well," Faith replied. She scrounged around in her   
purse for a second. "I think I got something that'll help get the kinks   
out, though."  
"Oh, it'll make you disappear, then?" Spike asked hopefully.  
Faith sighed. "Just because a girl has an innocent little set of   
handcuffs, everybody thinks she's a perv."  
"Everybody would be right," Spike said.  
Faith looked up at him with a glint in her eye. "You'll never find out,   
punk boy."  
"Oh, I am crushed," Spike said flatly. "How shall I ever live without   
knowing the joys of your overused flesh."  
"Play nice, kids, please," Buffy urged. "Invalid here. Snarky banter not   
good for healing process."  
"But these are," Faith said, shaking a tiny prescription bottle at Buffy.   
"These beauties'll do the trick. Just don't mix 'em with alcohol unless   
you feel like waking up thinking you're Sid Vicious."  
Spike looked worried. "What are those things, anyway?" he asked, joining   
Buffy and Faith by the throw rug. "Gads, I think I knew a bloke at uni who   
used these as roofies."  
"You would be in with the druggie crowd, wouldn't you, freak?" Faith   
accused.  
"Pot and kettle both seem pretty damn black to me, right now," Spike   
replied. "You a pusher in your spare time?"  
Faith ignored him, turning back to Buffy. "Take four every two hours."  
"O Blind One, the notes say two every four hours," Spike said, reading the   
label.  
"Look, Billy Idol, it still multiplies to eight either way."  
An hour later, Buffy was passed out into dreamland at her desk.  
"Non-drowsy, my skinny white bum," Spike muttered. He put down his pencil   
and watched the slow rise and fall of her breath for a moment, then, very   
gingerly, scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs.  
***   
Buffy was sprawled out in a semi-conscious stupor on her bed. Spike   
entered, completely harried, his hair askew and an apron tied around his   
waist. He knocked lightly on Buffy's head. "Found the parsley flakes,   
brain dead," he told her, plopping a spice jar onto the comfortor.  
"What? Parsley... huh?" Buffy asked, her face buried in a pillow.  
"You pleaded for it ten minutes ago."  
"Did not."  
"Did, too."  
"Did not."  
"Sod it, grand, fine. You didn't. I'm the space cadet, not Courtney Love   
here," Spike sighed. "Come on, trooper, remember that whole deadline thing   
you're so bent on?" He put a marker in her hand, which was limp and barely   
able to grasp it. Buffy proceeded to miss the sketchpad he held out, and   
instead traced a wavy line onto Spike's arm. "Lovely, always wanted a nice   
black mark there." He smudged it out as best he could.  
"Could you get me a soda, sweetie?" Buffy mumbled.  
"Sweetie?! I'm quite certainly not your sweetie," Spike huffed. "At least   
not -- " He cleared his throat and started over. "There's no soda, Buffy.   
The soda ship has sailed, and you're still at the dock."  
"Muffin?"  
"I'm not your muffin, either, silly bird."  
"I want a muffin."  
"Oh, right." Spike's alabaster skin turned a pale shade of pink. "Of   
course you'd want a muffin, not that I'm... yes, muffin, coming right up."   
He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way back downstairs, only   
succeeding in mussing it up even more.  
"While you're down there, do we have any parsley?" Buffy called after him.  
Spike paused halfway down the stairs. "It was this or flipping burgers,"   
he said to himself. "I clearly need a career counselor."  
***  
Xander came in with a small grocery sack as Spike was pulling a   
freshly-baked batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven. "I am here, and   
I have sustenance for the patient," Xander announced, joining Spike in the   
kitchenette.  
"It's about bleedin' time, Harris. Couldn't find a phone?" he said   
bitterly. "I'm gettin' blisters from the oven all afternoon while you're   
at some damnable meeting?"  
Xander's eyes got puppy-dog sad. "That was uncalled for. I'm here now,   
aren't I?"  
"Oh, right-o, hi, honey, you're home!" Spike countered sarcastically. He   
ripped the groceries out of Xander's grasp and dug through them. "Where   
the hell is the stinking soda?!"  
"Crap, I knew I forget something," Xander said, stomping his foot in   
irritation at himself.  
"The soda, you nobbing git, is all she's been asking for all day!"  
"Hey, take it down a notch, man, just give her some O.J. She's not picky,"   
Xander said.  
"Not picky?" Spike said menacingly. He took a step closer to Xander, who   
backed up, a little afraid. "Not bloody picky?! I'll show you not picky."   
He picked up a plate from the counter. "These muffins were too crumbly."   
He picked up another. "These muffins were too bland. And these," he said   
picking up a final plate, "she determined were simply 'icky.'" He flashed   
Xander an insane grin.  
Xander examined the platefuls of muffins. "That's so cute," he said.   
"Gotta love that Buff."  
Spike watched in rising -- jealous? -- anger as Xander broke off part of a   
muffin top and popped it into his mouth. He breathed heavily, trying to   
calm himself down. "No," he said, "you gotta love her. I'm just the stable   
boy."  
"Well, hey," Xander said, his mouth still full, "take a break. I'll help   
her now."  
"I can't take a break, I've got to get the muffins right!" Spike yelled.   
He tried to compose himself again. "'Sides, her issue is due in an hour,   
and she's not drawn a single line, 'cept for on me!" He held out the   
squiggly mark still faintly visible on his right forearm.  
"Don't sweat it," Xander said, laying a hand on Spike's shoulder, which   
was immediately shrugged off. "What's the worst the printers will do,   
anyway?"  
"Fire her. And me. And I'm quite adept at revenge." Spike held up a   
clenched fist to Xander.  
"Oooh-kayyy, point taken." Xander ran upstairs.   
***  
"Buffy?" Xander called, entering the bedroom. "Buff?"  
Buffy was still out for the count, but made a small inquisitive grunt at   
the sound of Xander's voice.  
"Buff, you gotta wake up, honey."  
"I do?" she murmured. "But I've got to save the bunnies."  
"What? No, no bunnies, Buffy, get up." He plucked her off the bed and   
slung her arm around his shoulders. "Let's walk, okay? Walking, walking."   
"Mommy, are we there yet?" Buffy said weakly, her head lolling back onto   
Xander's shoulder.  
"Buff, you have to get an idea for your comic book," Xander said, spacing   
his words out slowly to ingrain them into her foggy head. He put her back   
down on the bed, holding her hands to keep her upright.  
"Yeah, um..." Buffy blinked hard, trying to focus. "Buffy's fighting a guy   
in a mask who plays the organ."  
"That's Phantom of the Opera," Xander said.  
"No, it's not."  
"Yes, it is."  
"No, it's not."  
Exasperated, Xander picked up the blank sketchpad from the floor. "Fine,   
it's not, roll with it." He started to draw little pathetic stick figures,   
then Buffy proceeded to plop her head into his lap.  
Spike set his latest batch of muffins on the nightstand. "This really   
ain't the time for a quick one," he said.  
"Stuff it, Spike, I'm just trying to wake her up."  
"Used that line m'self a few times."  
Buffy fell completely over and began to snore.  
"What the hell did you give her?!" Xander asked furiously.  
"You'd have to ask Faith," Spike told him. "It was either a painkiller or   
one helluva party drug."  
Xander looked at his girlfriend, who by now had curled up into a comfy   
little ball, clutching a throw pillow like a teddy bear. He turned back to   
Spike, who, he briefly noticed, had also been looking at Buffy...   
What was up with that look? he wondered. But there were other problems at   
hand.  
"Okay," he decided, "new plan. We do the issue for her."  
"Come again?"  
"C'mon, Spike, you're an artist, and I'm... well, I can, like, watch and   
stuff," Xander said lamely.  
***  
Back downstairs, Spike and Xander approached the drawing table. Xander   
started to pull out the desk chair, then felt an iron grip on his wrist.   
"Don't think so," Spike said coldly. "If you're gonna make me do this with   
you, I sit there."  
"Well, excuuse me, fine. You captain the Enterprise, me pace around   
nervously."  
"Good plan." Spike sat down, got a fresh pencil, and looked at Xander.   
"Any time you're ready with the brilliant concepts, Harris."  
"Okay, okay." Xander thought for a moment. "What's this comic book really   
all about... a female heroine. Hmm, maybe we just need to tap into our   
feminine sides."  
"You do that, I'm going to get in touch with my slightly-pissed side."   
Spike got up and retrieved a bottle of flat champagne from the fridge.  
***  
Upstairs, Buffy was in the sweet grasp of Dreamland. On a rolling green   
field in the English countryside, she sat beneath a tree, drawing flowers.   
A middle-aged, modestly handsome man in a natty brown suit appeared, a   
pair of round wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose.  
"Feeling better, Buffy?" he asked. "Ready to slay some vampires?"  
"Totally all good, thanks," she replied. "What's this yummy potion stuff   
you gave me, anyhow? It got rid of all the achies."  
"Ah, local blend," the man said. "Magical elixer. Goes by the name of   
'soda.'"  
Buffy held up a crystal goblet filled with sparkling brown liquid. "Mm,   
soda." She looked back up and the first man had vanished, but Spike stood   
above her smirking. He sat down next to her on the ground.  
"What's the matter, luv? Got a touch of the old writer's block?" he asked.  
She frowned. "Guess so. I just can't seem to think in a straight line   
today. Dunno why."  
"You do well with wavy ones." He raised a finger and moved it in a wavy   
line, which appeared in the air before them as a series of little glowing   
stars. Suddenly the blue sky turned darker, and stars popped out in a   
shimmering display all around them.  
"Wow, how'd you do that?" she asked in awe.  
Spike snapped his fingers. "Bit more of the local magic," he said. "I've   
got more ways to help inspire you."  
He leaned in closer to her, kissed her softly.  
"I had no idea you could inspire me like that," she said quietly.  
He smiled back at her. "Lotta things you don't know about me yet."  
"Tell me... Spike..." Buffy started to raise her head. "Spike?" She looked   
around her groggily, saw that she was alone in her bedroom.   
"Spike?!" she called, suddenly fearful. She glanced at the alarm clock.   
"Oh, god, the deadline!"  
Wide awake now, she raced out of the bedroom.  
***  
Spike was on the phone in Buffy's living room. "So you got the package?   
And it made it before press time? Bangers, thanks." He hung up. "We did   
it, mate!" he told Xander, holding up his hand to him waiting for a   
high-five.  
Xander shrank back. "Please don't hit me!"  
Spike laughed. "Wasn't gonna hit you, but now that you mention it..."  
Buffy's sock-padded feet pounded down the stairs. "Oh, my god, oh, my god,   
what day is it?!" she asked.   
"Tuesday," Xander answered.  
"Whew, cool, I still have ten minutes to get the issue done." She rushed   
to the drawing table.  
"Calm down, speedy, the issue's in the can," Spike said, taking away her   
pencil.  
"Huh?"  
"We finished it for you," Xander said proudly.  
Buffy's eyes widened. She shook her head a little, then smiled weakly. "I   
still must be pretty out of it, because I thought you said --"  
"Yup," Xander said, puffing out his chest a little. "Men to the rescue of   
the damsel in distress."  
"You guys just... did my whole issue for me? And sent it in?" Buffy's jaw   
dropped. "Boys, boys, boys! That was, like, completely thoughtful and   
stuff, but I mean, come on! People are going to be able to tell it wasn't   
my work!" She thrust out her bottom lip a little, wistfully picked up her   
pile of fan mail. "I have fans counting on me."  
"Fan," Spike corrected.  
"I'm still..." Buffy sighed. "I'm not replaceable that easily."  
"Calm down, kiddo, just look at the thing before you break out the holy   
water on us, will you?" Spike urged, while Xander steered her onto the   
sofa.   
***  
Fifteen minutes later, she'd finished reading the issue... the godawful,   
sloppy, shoddy, pathetic excuse for an issue. I am so gonna rip those two   
a new one, she thought as she looked up into their...  
Hopeful little faces.  
"So?!" both men asked at the same time, then immediately looked at each   
other with great irritation.  
"Well... it's... very... neatly-drawn..." Buffy managed. "Considering you   
were under the gun, it's... kind of..." She stopped and smiled at them   
warmly. "Thank you."  
"Another disaster thwarted by the crime fighting duo!" Xander said   
triumphantly. He turned to Spike. "Celebratory male bonding over alcoholic   
beverages?"  
Spike looked at Buffy, whose pain seemed to have caught back up with her a   
little after the temporary endorphin rush. "Raincheck, Harris, it's   
still... working hours."   
Xander shrugged. "See you tomorrow, hon!" he called to Buffy as he left.  
Spike began to collect his things, then approached Buffy, who still sat   
dazedly on the sofa. He chucked her lightly under the chin. "You need any   
more nursing services, eh?" he asked.  
She looked up at him. Standing over her like that, her dream suddenly   
flashed back to her, and she felt a huge warm fuzzy.   
"I warned you not to get laid where you get paid," Faith's voice echoed in   
her head. Yeah, Buffy thought, but what would Faith actually do in this   
situation?  
Spike stood there, his expression expectant and downright sweet. Buffy   
stood up, the ache in her back less acute than the ache of her emotions.  
"You did most of this, didn't you?" she asked him.  
"Aw, no, Xander was quite the --"  
"You did most of this, didn't you?" she repeated, cutting him off. She   
took a step closer. "Thank you." She stood up on tiptoe and pecked him   
lightly on the cheek.  
Spike looked positively flummoxed. "Just doin' my job, ma'am," he said in   
a silly Southern accent, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat. "Ah, right,   
then, if you don't need me..." He pulled on his coat. "I guess I'll see   
you in the morning."  
Buffy waved meekly at his departing form. "In the morning," she whispered.  
***  
Willow Rosenberg was lying on her stomach in an upstairs room of Giles's   
rambling old house outside of London. She was flipping through the latest   
issue of her friend Buffy's comic book and frowning in confusion. She   
spotted Giles passing outside her open door.   
"Hey, Giles!" she called.  
The middle-aged, modestly handsome man popped his head into Willow's room.   
"Yes?" he asked.  
"Did you read the new issue of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? I left a copy in   
the kitchen for you."  
"Yes, actually, I did. Your friend is very talented."  
"Yeah, usually," Willow replied. "But this issue... it's like..."  
"Actually, I found it to have really captured the, ah, female psyche."   
Giles paused. "Or so I assume it to be."  
"Really? I thought this thing plays like Buffy had some third-grade boys   
invade her studio." Willow tossed the comic book aside. "Maybe next   
month's will be better."  
Home 


	3. Episode Three

Buffy in the City Episode ThreeBuffy in the City  
Episode Three: Coming-Out Party  
Disclaimer: Usual rules apply. Nobody belongs to me, situations herein are   
a mixed muddle of my silly head and those of the jolly folks associated   
with respective production companies and things.  
Notes: This episode has been a little more tricky. I had resisting   
adapting this particular Caroline storyline for fear the result would be   
too odd for some folks. There's some comical Spike/Xander displays of   
affection here, which are incredibly mild, necessary to the plot, and to   
explain the reason for them entirely would spoil the storyline. Just know   
the reasons will become clearer as one reads along. However, if you're   
offended by such things, I guess I'll slap a PG-15 rating on here just to   
be safe. Never fear, however, Buffy is still the apple of Spike's eye.   
***   
Spike had dragged a slightly-reluctant Buffy to an art gallery one   
afternoon, in the hopes of inspiring his writers'-blocked employer to get   
back to work. Not to mention getting paid to do something other than cater   
to her every pouty whim.  
They stood in front of a large white canvas with the word "EXIT" painted   
on it in bright red letters.  
"Okay, Mr. Art Expert, what the hell is this one supposed to mean?" Buffy   
asked.  
Spike chuckled. "You've probably never read Sartre, have you? What was on   
your university reading list, anyway, Cosmo's Dating Guide?"  
Buffy gave him a light whap on the arm.  
"All right, all right, kiddin' aside, this is probably representing how   
humans are always secretly harboring a death wish." He looked down at   
Buffy, who was actually -- shockers! -- paying attention to him. "You   
know," he continued, "always lookin' for a metaphorical exit, a way out of   
this shoddy mess masquerading as life..."  
Just then, two handymen appeared, each taking one end of the canvas and   
lifting it away from the wall. "Where'd Joe say the exit sign was supposed   
to go?" one asked the other.  
"Over by the fire escape," his co-worker replied.  
Buffy and Spike stood there, staring at the empty wall.  
Spike cleared his throat.  
"Right, then. It's about nothingness," he said, pointing to the blank   
expanse of white plaster. Buffy giggled.  
***  
Buffy and Faith sat at a table together at the Bronze, cups of espresso   
steaming in front of them. Buffy examined her reflection in a small   
compact mirror, experimentally fluffing up various sections of her hair,   
flattening others. It was a slightly choppy mess.  
"When'd you get so vain, B?" Faith asked her.  
"Huh? Oh, no, no," Buffy began to explain, dropping the mirror back in her   
purse, "It's just this haircut, kind of not-quite-Buffy-esque."  
"New hairdresser?"  
"No, same guy, but I think he's lost his touch," Buffy replied sadly.  
Spike sauntered into the club, spotted the two girls sitting together,   
looked around helplessly for a table as far from them as possible. Too   
late, Buffy spied him attempting to skulk behind a large man wearing a   
"Frankie Says Relax" T-shirt.  
"Hey, Spike!" she called happily, waving him over.  
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, approaching their table with a disappointed   
frown.  
"Sit," Buffy said, patting the empty chair between her and Faith. "Be an   
honorary girl, this being girls' night out and all."  
"Oh, this invitation just gets better and better," Spike said, but sitting   
down anyway. He glanced at Buffy. "What the hell happened to your noggin,   
Summers?"  
Faith pulled out her cell phone. "Got my hairdresser on speed dial," she   
said.   
"Call. Now," Buffy said tersely. "This is now officially a hair emergency,   
if even he noticed."  
"Aw, now, don't go by me," Spike said, patting her shoulder. "I'm only an   
honorary girl, after all."  
At the next table, a young woman with dark blond hair angrily hung up her   
own cell phone. "Sorry, I've got to go soon," she told her companion.   
"There's an emergency at the gallery."  
"Did you hear that?" Buffy whispered, poking Spike in the ribs.  
"Ow!" Spike said, his unlit cigarette falling out of his mouth into his   
lap. "Unnecessary violence! Penalty, time out for this one."  
"Sorry," Buffy said. "But, no, listen, that lady has a gallery. Hello,   
artist!" she said pointing at Spike. "Go talk to her! She might take some   
of your work!"  
"Don't work that way," Spike told her. He sighed, gave Buffy a serious,   
resigned expression. "See, I know I'm not getting any props 'til the heart   
stops beating."  
"God, that's morbid," Buffy said.  
Faith shrugged. "Gives me something to look forward to."  
Spike shot her a withering look.  
"Go! Network!" Buffy insisted.  
"Not happening," Spike said. He retrieved his cigarette and put it back in   
his mouth.  
"Go!" Buffy said, louder, and with a tiny shove. The cigarette fell out of   
Spike's mouth again.  
"You know, I could get workers' compensation if you keep injuring me all   
bloody night."  
Buffy held her head up. "Fine, be that way, you big baby." She glanced   
over at the woman's table, saw that she still sat there. "Spike Williams,   
do NOT say such things!" she shouted, still eyeing the back of the woman's   
head. "You're the best painter of your generation! You of all people   
deserve a gallery show!"   
The woman turned, ever so slightly. It was clear she was now actively   
eavesdropping.  
Spike covered his eyes with one hand. "Not terribly good move, Buffy," he   
said quietly. He got up and went to the bar.  
Buffy sadly watched him go. "Just trying to help," she said.  
"I know," Faith replied. "Hey, why don't we just go talk to her?"  
"I don't want to bother her..."  
"But I do!" Faith hopped off her chair, and went over to the woman's   
table. She pretended not to notice the woman 'til she'd already passed   
her, then did a double-take. "Oh, my god, Michelle?!" she cried.  
"Huh?" the woman asked, confused.  
"Michelle Fontana?! From Gamma Beta Phi?!" Faith squealed.  
The woman laughed. "I think you have me confused with somebody else.   
Sorry."  
Faith paused, looking at the woman. "Huh, I could swear I've seen you   
somewhere before."  
The woman looked down bashfully. "Well, I have a little art gallery in   
SoHo," she admitted. "Maybe you saw me there."  
Faith made like a lightbulb went on over her head. "That's it! Oh, god, I   
love art! I love your gallery! The, ah..."  
"Tara McClay Gal--"  
Faith snapped her fingers. "Of course! The Tara McClay Gallery!" She   
gasped. "So you're..."  
"Tara McClay."  
Faith motioned to Buffy. "Look who this is!" she said. "It's Tara McClay   
of the Tara McClay Gallery!"  
"Wow!" Buffy said. "Tara McClay, I can't believe it!"  
"Of the, ah, Tara McClay Gallery," Tara said with a laugh.  
"I'm Faith, this is Buffy."  
"Of the Buffy Summers I-Have-No-Art-Gallery," she said, shaking Tara's   
hand.  
Tara smiled, looking at them. "So you two have been to my gallery?" she   
asked.  
"Of course!" Buffy said. "Oodles of times. It's so... with the art... yes.   
Nice. We love it."  
"Nice to meet you."  
"You know, it's so funny, us being such big fans of your gallery, we were   
just talking to our friend Spike..." Buffy began.  
"He's an artist," Faith added.  
"And you want me to look at his stuff," Tara said. She laughed. "I kind of   
figured. You guys aren't terribly subtle."  
Faith looked injured. "You mean I was that transparent?"  
"'Fraid so," Tara said. "So, ah, is your friend really, you know, right   
for my gallery?"  
"Oh, totally," Buffy assured her.  
"Definitely," Faith said more firmly.  
Tara considered this a moment. "Hey, sure, why not. Have him stop by." She   
handed Buffy her card. "I've got to go, though. Nice meeting you two."   
Tara left, and Buffy and Faith returned to their table, little gleeful   
grins on their faces.  
Spike came back from the bar with three bottles of Killian's. He set them   
down, one in front of each othem, then noticed the girls' smiles. He eyed   
them suspiciously.   
"What did you do...?" he asked, looking quickly from Buffy to Faith and   
back again. "If you've been bad little girls, you don't get cookies before   
bedtime."  
***  
Spike entered Tara's gallery, looking around at the artwork on the walls.   
Tara approached him, tapped him on the shoulder, and Spike jumped a   
little, startled. "Sorry," Tara said with a shy smile. "Didn't mean to   
sneak up on you. Tara McClay, we spoke on the phone."  
"Spike Williams."  
"So, did your friends come with?"  
"Who, Lucy and Ethel?" Spike said with a smirk. "No, they let me out of   
the dungeon on a free pass today."  
Tara laughed quietly. "Well, they gave you a great endorsement, said you'd   
fit right in here. Can I?" She indicated Spike's portfolio, which he was   
clutching protectively.  
"Right, right, would probably help to see my stuff." He handed it to her   
nervously.  
She paged through it. "Wow, these are very powerful images," she said.   
"I'm impressed. Very angsty."  
"That's what I do best," Spike said. "Angst."  
"You know, I've got a group exhibit coming up," Tara said. "Would you like   
to bring me some pieces to be considered?"  
Spike's eyes widened for a second. "Would I?!" Realizing his   
over-eagerness, he checked his enthusiasm. "Sure, yeah, I mean, I haven't   
got anything better to do."  
***  
In her living room, Buffy was happily checking out her hair in the mirror   
above her fishtank. She flipped it around admiringly. Faith's guy had   
worked some serious magic to correct her own hairdresser's errors. A key   
clicked in the door, and Xander entered. Buffy grinned as she approached   
him, waiting to see if he noticed her hair.  
"Hey, hon," he said, kissing her on the nose.  
"Hey," she said. "Well?!"  
"What?"  
She pouted. "You can't tell?"  
Xander looked her up and down. "Um, um, sure I can. New... outfit?"  
"No..."  
"Wonderbra?" he tried again.  
"No, my hair!" she finally said, then looked down at her chest. "You think   
I need a Wonderbra?"  
Xander looked at her hair more closely. "It doesn't look any different."  
Faith came in, heading straight for Buffy with a squeal. "Your hair looks   
so rad, B! What did I tell you?"  
Xander rolled his eyes. "Okay, girl land is not so super fun for us   
non-girls. Time for boy to go on Pizza Procurement Patrol." He went to the   
phone.  
"So what'd you tell your old guy?" Faith asked.  
"I, ah... well, people move to Finland all the time," Buffy said,   
embarrassed.  
"Buffy!" Faith said admonishingly. "You have got to get better at dumping   
people." She threw Xander a quick glance. "Case in point..."  
"Faith..." Buffy said with an edge of warning.  
"Right, extra mushrooms," Xander was saying into the phone. "So that'll   
take how long?"  
There was a knock at the door.  
"Damn, you guys are fast!" Xander said, hanging up. He opened the door,   
only to find Spike standing there with two large canvases. "Aw, man,   
you're not the pizza guy!"  
"No, nor are these pizzas. Very observant, Harris, you're really   
recovering from that childhood head injury." Spike pulled the paintings   
inside. They towered over him by a foot, and were only just barely narrow   
enough for him to get a good grasp of them at both edges.   
"Hey, what's this all about, Spike?" Buffy asked, coming over to where   
Spike was propping the canvases up against the desk.  
Spike lowered his head a little, looked at Buffy almost shyly. "Ah, I'm   
gonna say something to you that I don't say very often, ducks, so listen   
up."  
"Wow, this should be good," Faith said.  
"Well, this, as much as I hate to admit it, involves you, too, slag, so   
get your ears peeled." Spike took a deep breath. "Thank you both for   
pokin' your noses in where they didn't belong. Tara's gonna have me in her   
next group show, and this would not have been possible if you two hadn't   
gone all sneaky-like." He paused.  
Buffy and Faith were both rendered speechless by the rarity of this   
generous appreciation.  
"All righty then!" Spike said loudly, clapping his hands and rubbing them   
together. "That sugar-coated tripe out of the way..."  
"Knew that side of Spike couldn't last," Buffy said to Faith with a wink.  
"Yeah, I know better what to do with the side that turns to ashes in the   
sunlight," joked Faith. They giggled.  
"So, if I may indulge in requesting a bit more of your attention, which   
one d'you think I ought to submit to the show, eh?" Spike had turned the   
canvases around.   
Xander walked up to the paintings. "These are, like, totally creepy," he   
remarked.  
"Creepy!" Buffy said, getting a closer look. "Xander, they are not either   
creepy, what a dumb thing to say."  
Spike cocked his head. "I dunno, I kind of was going for creepy,   
actually."  
"Oh." Buffy reconsidered the paintings a moment. "Well, then, this left   
blobby deal is actually pretty creepy."  
"I'd love to stick and look at these myself, but, well, I don't want to,"   
Faith said. "Later, skaters," she said, nearly colliding with Anya in the   
hallway.  
"Skank," Faith muttered.  
"Slut," Anya shot back, then flashed a beamy smile as she entered Buffy's   
loft. "Oh, my, such... large artsy things!" she said brightly. "Who's   
the..." She fell silent when she got close enough to see the paintings   
better. "Who's the completely warped weirdo who did these pieces of crap?"  
Spike raised his hand and took an exagerrated, sweeping bow. "Ah, dear   
lady, what a terribly open-minded opinion you have of the abstract," he   
said, leaning to mock Anya further by kissing her on the hand.  
She pulled it away. "Ew. And abstract? No, sorry. If it cannot be   
described through rational means, it doesn't deserve to exist." She then   
noticed Xander, who was trying very hard to ignore her. "Much like my   
former relationship with Mr. Harris here," she said.  
"Hey, now!" Xander snapped his head in her direction. "I thought we agreed   
not to talk about all that stuff anymore."  
"We did. I shall cease and desist." Anya shrugged. "It was all pretty   
boring anyway."   
"Um, hello, let the record show another disgruntled 'hey!' from the   
ex-boyfriend! How was it all boring?!"  
Anya gave him a simpering smile. "Xander, zip it. And we aren't at work   
right now, so I can say that, and you cannot fire me." She turned to   
Buffy. "I'm actually here for you." She handed her a manilla envelope.   
"Contract stuff."  
"Thanks," Buffy said.  
"Wait just a gosh-darn minute here," Xander said, moving closer to Anya   
and pointing at her accusingly. "You came here on a work-related errand,   
no?"  
"Well, yes, I suppose technically..."  
"So you are at work right now, so you can't push me around and be mean!"   
Xander folded his arms and looked very proud of himself. "For I am your   
boss."  
"Oh, please, Xander, I'm Spike's boss, and that never stopped him from   
being mean," Buffy said.  
"Fairness, here, Summers," Spike chimed in, "I don't think I'm exactly   
mean. Bitter and sarcastic, yes. Mean, no."  
Anya turned to Spike. "I don't know you very well," she said, "but if you   
painted these scary things, I'd say you're pretty mean."  
"You all act as if I eat kittens for breakfast!" Spike said in   
frustration.  
"Kittens! Eating! No!" Anya cried.  
"Well, I don't! For god's sake!" He sighed. "Hang it, I don't want you   
lot's opinions now!" He started to take the paintings away from the desk,   
but Buffy stopped him.   
"Come on, we're just kidding around," she assured him. "Weren't we?"  
"Sure," Xander said.  
"I wasn't," Anya replied. "You're odd."  
"Odd but not mean," Buffy said. "Come on, we want to help you pick out a   
painting for your show."  
"Oo, where's your show? You've got your own show?" Anya asked, suddenly   
smiley again.  
"What do you care?" Spike asked.  
"I don't, but, you know, chance to wear a cute dress..."  
"Who among us would take you, Anya?" Xander asked.  
She looked at each one of them. "Good point. But, you know, if it's a   
public showing, I could still just show up wearing a cute dress. So,   
where?"  
"Tara McClay Gallery," Spike told her. "But I'm not tellin' you when."  
Anya's face fell. "Rats and drat. Cute dress wasted on going there." Then   
she looked slightly confused. "Wow, I had no idea! I usually can tell such   
things," she said to Spike.  
Spike knit his brows. "Come again, dizzy? You can usually tell what?"  
"Oh, you know, I have what the plebians refer to as gay-dar."  
He looked for a second like he couldn't quite get a handle on what Anya   
had said, then Spike abruptly broke into a roar of laughter. "My dear,   
sweet little bird," he said to Anya, "you really don't know me at all, do   
you?" He took a step towards her. "I can very much assure you..." He   
raised an eyebrow at her.  
Buffy deftly stepped between them. "Down, Hormone Harry," she said to   
Spike. She turned to Anya. "He's not gay," she said, pushing the two of   
them further apart. "Why'd you think he was gay?"  
"Because only gay and lesbian artists are at McClay, duh!" Anya said. "My   
cousin had a showing there. Ah, well, maybe I'll try out my cute dress   
anyway, seeing as how I haven't had much luck on the boy team..."  
"Again, 'hey'!" Xander said. Buffy went over to him and patted him on the   
back comfortingly.  
"So, well, time drags when you're having an incredibly wretched few   
minutes, so off I go," Anya said, breezing out.  
***  
At first, Spike had no reaction. He sat down, but remained quiet and   
expressionless. Buffy and Xander hovered slightly, waiting to see what he   
would say when it finally hit him that his dream of a show was kaput.  
"Remember that whole thanks bit I gave you earlier, blondie?" he finally   
said.  
Buffy rushed over to him. "Yes?"  
"Well, you can take my thanks... and you can cram it."  
"Spike, I had no idea!" Buffy said. "But, hey, on the other hand, maybe   
you can, um, stay in the straight closet until the show's over..."  
"But that would be, you know... wrong," Spike said. "Oh, you think I'm so   
mean, maybe I should just lie, terribly mean thing that, lying and   
defrauding people and belittling a place s'posed to do good for their   
people, of whom I am not one. Yes, yes, a mean person would take advantage   
of this situation, wouldn't they?" He glared at her, and Buffy sighed.  
"Spike, c'mon, man, lay off her," Xander said. "Who's it really gonna hurt   
anyway, you know?"  
"I didn't mean you were mean," Buffy interrupted.  
"Well, then what did you mean, hmm?"   
"You guys, cut it out!" Xander said. "Listen, for real, why not go along,   
Spike?"  
"Because, gimpy, I am not ashamed of who I am!" Spike said, getting up.   
"This is the bloody twenty-first century. I should be able to swagger into   
the gallery with a gorgeous woman on my arm and not feel like I'm being   
gawked at and judged!"  
"So you're just gonna be a quitter, then, is that it?" Xander asked.  
"No, not a quitter," Spike replied. He looked pointedly at Buffy. "I am   
going to do the right and noble thing. Very un-mean, then, right? Points   
awarded?"  
"Let it go already!" Buffy said, dropping her head onto the coffee table.  
***  
Spike crept into the gallery, which was already in the midst of being   
prepared for the group show. "Hello?" he called, somewhat weakly. "Ms.   
McClay?"  
"Oh, hey, Spike!" she said brightly, coming around a pillar and joining   
him.  
He smiled gently at her. "Hey, listen, can I bend your ear for just a   
sec?"  
"Of course! But first, I have something to show you." She took his hand   
and led him across the room. "This," she said, indicating the blank wall   
in front of them, "is going to be all yours."  
He stared at the expanse of white with awe. "My god, my own... wall?" He   
put his hand on it.  
"Which was just painted this morning," Tara added.  
Spike removed his hand, now covered in a thin film of white paint. "I, uh,   
I meant to do that," he mumbled. Tara smiled and pointed at a dropcloth,   
which Spike wiped his hand on. "Listen, really, though, I have a problem   
here..."  
Tara's phone rang. "Sorry, Spike, just one second." She pulled it out of   
her pocket. "Hello? No, no, Bernie calm down... Don't worry, your work   
won't go for less than thirty --"  
"Excuse me, what?" Spike asked, tapping her on the shoulder. "D'you   
mean... thirty... ?"   
"Thousand," Tara said with a nod. She went back to her call. "Now, Bernie,   
remember, I told you each item won't go for less than twenty to thirty --"  
Spike let out a strange little chuckle. "I-I'm sorry, but that doesn't   
include the entire pad here, plus utilities, does it?"  
Tara smiled at him again and held up her index finger, indicating he   
should wait a moment. "Right, right, Bernie, it'll be fine." She hung up.  
"Lemme just take this in," Spike said, leaning against a stepladder.   
"You're gonna sell my stuff for three hundred thousand... dollars?"  
Tara looked sad. "Oh, no, Spike, I think you misunderstood," she said.   
"No, you're a new artist. Your painting probably won't get more than   
twenty thousand. I'm sorry. Now, what did you want to tell me?"  
Spike's mind was suddenly as blank as the gallery walls. "Um..." Why was   
he here again? Twenty thousand dollars... thoughts swirling. Something   
about not being mean? Screw that, you could buy a lot of nice for twenty   
thousand dollars. "Yeah, I, uh, d'you mind if I bring a date to the show?   
My boyfriend's just been dying to see my work exhibited!"  
***  
Buffy, Xander, and Faith entered the gallery. "Wow," Faith said   
appreciatively. "Check out all the cute unavailable men. Wonder if I could   
convince any of 'em to try something new."  
"Yeah, just tell them you're a drag queen," Spike said as he approached.  
Faith considered this. "Worth a shot," she said, splitting from the   
others.  
"Spike! Where's your painting?" Buffy asked excitedly. He took her by the   
hand and led her to his wall.  
"There it is," he said like a proud father.  
"So you opted for the blobby thing," Xander said. "Good choice. The   
splattery thing wasn't exuding the same level of disturbingness."  
Spike leaned in and whispered to Buffy, "Your sitter canceled, eh?"  
She giggled, in spite of herself. "Hey, c'mon, picture time," she said,   
pulling a camera out of her purse.  
"Aw, no, no," Spike said, trying to wave her away.  
"Pretty please?" she said, her eyes big.  
He softened. "If I must." He stood next to the painting. "Shall I strike a   
big meanie pose for you?" he asked as the flash went off. "Nice warning,   
pet." He blinked away the stars forming in his field of vision. "You get   
the price tag in the shot?"  
Xander leaned over and examined it. "Holy --"  
"Xander!" Buffy cut in. She leaned over to see it, too. "Holy's right,   
wowza!" She straightened up again. "Oh, you are so getting a raise,   
mister!"  
"Can I have that in writing?" Spike asked.  
"Geez, how much are the rest of these going for?" Xander asked. "This   
place is worth more than my parents' house!" He wanderd off to look   
around.  
"So how's it feel to be big shot artist guy?" Buffy asked Spike.  
Spike looked around at the patrons milling about the gallery. "It's all   
kinda surreal, you know?"  
"Oo, surreal, I know that one... Salvador who's-it with the floppy   
watches," Buffy said excitedly.  
"Ah, somebody's been studying!" Spike said. "Very good, little one."  
"You're like my Jedi art master," Buffy giggled. "God, I'm so proud of   
you! Is... is it okay if I... hug you? You know, congrats-ish. I know   
you're not a big hug kind of --"  
"Go ahead, luv, I told them all you were a lesbian." He reached down and   
embraced her. Her hair brushed his cheek.  
I am so decidedly not gay, Spike thought to himself, amused and slightly   
turned-on by how good Buffy smelled up close.  
"Buffy?" came a voice behind them. With great reluctance, Spike let go of   
her.  
"Oh, hi... Steve..." Buffy said with zero enthusiasm.  
"I thought you moved to Finland," Steve said.  
"Um, yes, yes, I went to the great... northern... um, it was really dark   
there, and..."  
"Hey, this isn't my style!" Steve circled her, examining her hair. "You're   
seeing someone new!"  
"It's-It's not what you think!"  
"Puh-leez!" Steve said, crossing his arms and turning his back to her.   
"After all our time together? How could you!" He started to walk away.  
"Steve, wait! I was drunk!" Buffy called, chasing after him. "It only   
happened once!"  
***  
Xander spent several minutes looking at paintings in the next room of the   
gallery. Where's all the hot girl-girl ones? he wondered, then, spotting a   
particularly interesting watercolor, grinned. There you are, he thought,   
heading for it. Suddenly, Spike was tugging at him "In public?" Xander   
asked. "Spike, you rascal, can't you wait 'til we get home?"  
"Har har," Spike said flatly. "Where's Buffy?"  
"Dunno, why?"  
"I'm about to get bought, Harris!"  
"Wow, first you're gay, then you're a gigolo. How entrepreneurial you   
are!"  
"My painting, you gimboid," he said, chuffing Xander on the back of the   
head.  
"First, ow, and second, really? Cool!"  
"Congratulations!" Tara said happily as she walked up to Spike. "Mr. Jones   
just loves your piece!"  
"Thank you so much, Tara," Spike said warmly.  
"You're sure you only sold your painting?" Xander asked. Spike pushed him   
away.  
"I can't tell you how good it feels to be able to give fellow gay artists   
a place to exhibit and be appreciated!" She smiled with happy excitement.  
"I... yeah, um..." Spike looked down at the floor.  
"It's selling new artists like you who have commitment and bravery that   
just... fulfills me, you know?"  
Spike sighed, shut his eyes a moment, then looked back at Tara. "This is   
gonna be a rough one," he began. "I have got to be open here --"  
Xander came up behind Spike. "No, you don't."  
"Yes, I do."  
"No, you don't."  
"Yes, I do."  
"No, you --"  
Spike whipped around to Xander. "Yes, I bleedin' well do!" He turned back.   
"Tara, you can't sell the piece --"  
Xander squeezed Spike around the shoulders. "He can't because it was an   
anniversary present to me," Xander said to Tara. He gave Spike a slobbery   
smooch on the cheek, and Spike's eyes bugged out. "Oh, my sweet Spike, go   
ahead and sell it! I don't need it, I just need you!"  
"Harris... what the hell... " Spike said through clenched teeth. "We have   
to talk. Elsewhere."  
"Sure thing, pooky!" Xander said. "I think we're having a tiff," he said   
to Tara. Spike grabbed his wrist and pulled him forcibly away from her.  
"Listen here, greedy, I am not going to sell!" Spike hissed. "It's not...   
look, I'm just not selling."  
"Um, 'k, but look on the other hand. Like, a barrelful of cash. Gee,   
what's better, doing the right thing, or --"  
"Or doing things your way?" Spike interrupted. "Bug off, mate, I'm takin'   
the high road for once." He returned to Tara. "I can't do this," he said.   
"I'm not gay."  
"What?" she whimpered.  
"You tell me this now?!" Xander cried. He threw his drink in Spike's face   
and flounced out.  
Spike rubbed his hand over his wet face. "I don't know what to say here,"   
he admitted.  
"I'm just glad you were honest." Tara smiled ruefully. "Hey, you know, be   
proud of who you are. But I do have to go tell Mr. Jones the deal is off."   
She started to leave, then turned back. "Thanks for not waiting 'til it   
was too late. That was really big of you."   
"You're welcome," Spike said in a hushed tone. He kept his head down as he   
walked out of the gallery.  
***  
Outside, Buffy sat on the stoop. Spike plunked himself down next to her.   
"Where's the others?" he asked. "I presume Xander told you what happened."  
"Yup," Buffy said. "They went home, Faith found the one straight guy in   
the place and split for parts unknown, and Xander has an early meeting   
tomorrow." She watched him for a second as he looked up at the starry   
night sky. "Spike, I'm very proud of you," she whispered.  
"Didn't you get the bulletin?" he asked, pulling his obligatory pack of   
cigarettes from his suit jacket. "Didn't sell. Still a starving artist. No   
fame, no fortune, no sale." And I probably don't get the girl in the end,   
either, he added to himself.  
Buffy looked him dead in the eyes. "I've never been more proud of you."  
He lit a cigarette, snapped his lighter closed with a metallic click.   
"Does this mean I'm off the list of meanies?"  
Buffy looked at him with a twinkle in her eye, but said nothing. She stood   
up and nudged him. They started walking together, a slightly-snuggly   
silence between them.  
"Let it go, already," she said at last.  
"Aw, come on, blondie, after all that trouble I went to! Nobility! Honor!   
All for the respect and admiration of --"  
"Let it go," she said again, but this time she was grinning broadly as the   
autumn night swept them off together. 


	4. Episode Four

Buffy in the City Episode FourBuffy in the City  
Episode Four: You Gave Me London  
by SoulVamp  
Disclaimer: I am not the inventor of Buffy, Spike, Xander, Anya, Faith,   
Caroline, etc. etc.. This is goofy appropriation for my own fun, and   
hopefully for the fun of others. Please do not sue me. You probably   
wouldn't get much out of it anyway.   
Notes: Thanks for all the feedback, folks! Keep it coming, good, bad, or   
indifferent. Inspiration comes in fits and spurts, and this one's taken me   
quite a bit longer to finish. I hope everyone has been patient. I've   
gotten sidetracked with other little writing projects and various life   
stuff.   
This episode, I think, moves things a little further along in the romance   
zone, but certainly doesn't tie things up neatly yet. Gotta torture y'all   
a little!  
***  
Buffy was putting the finishing touches on that month's comic book, while   
Faith sat curled up on the sofa flipping through a catalogue.  
"Whew! Another Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the can!" Buffy announced   
happily. "Now, on to the calendar."  
"B, check out the men's underwear section here. I think I've found what I   
want for Christmas," Faith purred.  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Come on, Faith, I don't have time. I've got to get   
a major dent made in the Buffy calendar designs now! Xander and I are   
going to be on vacation for two weeks and --" She trailed off when Faith   
bounded over and shoved the catalogue tantalizingly under her nose. "Boy,   
talk about a stocking stuffer!" Buffy said, gazing at the picture Faith   
pointed to.  
Spike came into the loft, looking pained. "Hey, Spike," Buffy said.   
"What's wrong?"  
She figured it out when Anya popped in behind him singing Jingle Bells   
off-key.  
"I rode up in the elevator with that," he said as he took his seat at the   
desk. "Please, make it stop. My ears are bleeding."  
Anya ignored him. "Ah, the holiday season!" she said with a cheerful   
smile. "Here you are, Ms. Summers," she said, handing Buffy a packet of   
mail. She was turning to go when she spotted something on the counter.   
"Oo, fruitcake! Nummy!"  
"You are what you eat," Spike muttered.  
"Take it, Anya, I got about twelve more from well-meaning relatives,"   
Buffy said.  
"Merci beaucoup, and a Joyful Noel to you all!" Anya took the cake and   
went to the doorway and noticed a sprig of green hanging above it. "Hmm,   
mistletoe. Shall I get a kiss, or no?"  
Everyone looked at one another. "You're the boy!" Faith said to Spike. "Or   
at least the closest thing we got."  
Spike looked at Anya threateningly. "I bite," he said.  
"I'll file that under 'no,' then. Ciao!" She fled.  
"That gal has got to get a boyfriend," Buffy said. "Maybe then we'd get a   
little less chat with the deliveries."  
"What desperate individual could possibly see something in her?" Spike   
asked.  
"Well, Xander apparently used to," Faith said, glancing at Buffy.  
Spike opened his mouth to retort, but then thought better of it, silently   
sitting down to work instead.  
"I wonder if Xander would fix her up with one of his friends?" Buffy   
wondered.  
This one, he couldn't stay quiet for. "Ah, look, I'm not exactly one to   
rush to the defense of Harris the Deficient, but gotta stop you in your   
tracks there," Spike informed her. "He won't go for it."  
"Why not?"  
"Baby, you've got a lot to learn about the ways of the male animal," Spike   
chuckled. "It's one of the jungle laws. Man shalt not set up his woman   
with other man."  
"Um, 'scuse me, O Great Sage boy, but Anya is not his woman anymore. I   
am!" Buffy said. Even if sometimes I don't want to be, she added to   
herself.  
"Don't matter, that," Spike said with a shrug. "Xander may have set her   
aside, but that doesn't mean he wants to see her with one of his mates."  
"Hate to say this," Faith piped up, "but I'm with the Spikester on this   
one."  
"Alas, Anya will have to wither in her own sexual frustration," Spike   
said, "forced to seek her other half by her lonesome."  
"You guys! Come on, I'm not giving up that easily! Everybody deserves   
somebody," Buffy cried. "And these three somebodies deserve Anya out of   
their hair!"  
Yeah, everybody deserves somebody, Spike thought with more than a little   
bitterness. Just not me, apparently. As Buffy returned to her desk, Faith   
taking off, he couldn't help but glance up from time to time at his boss,   
feeling a little pang when she announced she had to go meet Xander.  
The pang, of which he'd suffered more and more often, really irritated   
him. That girl is not my type, he thought, I shouldn't even entertain the   
notion of her...  
***  
Buffy met up with Xander at his travel agent's office to finalize plans   
for their vacation. The agent was a chipper young man with a goatee and   
little round glasses.  
"Well!" the agent said happily. "Where are the lovebirds off to?"  
"London," Buffy said dreamily, looking at Xander. "I've always wanted to   
see England at Christmas, kind of like Charles Dickens..."  
"Hon, I still say there's nothing romantic about having Ebenezer Scrooge   
fantasies," Xander said. "Is there something you'd like to tell me? Should   
I get an old-man nightgown and walk around with a scowl on my face?"   
Buffy giggled at him, punching him playfully in the arm. The travel agent   
typed away at his computer for a moment, then frowned. "You guys don't   
mean this Christmas, do you?"  
"Kind of..." Buffy said, worried.  
The agent turned in his chair, folded his hands on his desk, and smiled   
sadly. "I have only one package left. Now, before I tell you about it, let   
me assure you that youth hostels are actually loads of fun! And if you   
pack enough cologne, you don't really need to shower --"  
"Aw, come on, you don't have anything left?" Xander asked.  
The angent turned back to the computer, typed again. "Actually, we have a   
great deal opened up..."  
Xander and Buffy brightened.  
"... for June."  
Xander's face fell.  
"Oh, that would be so neat, Xander!" Buffy said. "Springtime! We could go   
out to the country side and see all the little baby sheep!"  
"It's still kind of rainy in England in the spring," the agent corrected.  
"Well, then, we could see all the... wet baby sheep," Buffy amended.   
"Honey, wouldn't that be nice?"  
"Um, yeah... Buff, June... uh..." Xander struggled. "It's just that, like,   
June is six months away. I mean, who knows what's gonna happen with us in   
six months?"  
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "What's gonna happen with us?" she repeated,   
her voice low and serious. "Ex-cuse me?" She blinked at him pointedly.  
"Dude, that was so not a good idea," the agent said to Xander with a small   
I'm-so-glad-I'm-not-you laugh.  
Xander retorted by shooting the agent a fierce shut-the-hell-up look. He   
turned back to Buffy. "Look, all I meant was that... I don't know, we   
could be busy by then... Or something. I was, ah, thinking about getting   
a... bunny... ?"  
Buffy still looked completely enraged, but added incredulous to her   
expression. "A bunny? Mmm hmm... all right... that's a plausible defense.   
Suuuure."  
Xander shifted in his chair. "Is it just me, or is it like two hundred   
degrees in here?!"  
She sighed. "If you want to break up, just say so."  
"No!" he said immediately. "I don't want to --"  
She shook her head. "I smell your fear, Xand. Back to the same old   
commitment phobia thing."  
"Um," the agent interjected, "I smell your fear from here, man. Not to   
mention you look like you're in front of a firing squad."  
"Okay, you travel agent. Not therapist," Xander informed him with a   
jabbing point in the agent's direction.  
Buffy started to walk out, Xander rushing after her. On the sidewalk, she   
stopped. "Hang on," she said. "Argument on pause mode." She returned to   
the agent's desk. "Hey, you seem pretty fearless, wanna go on a blind date   
with a fairly frightening but pretty girl?"  
"You make it sound so appealing," the agent replied. "How could I refuse?"  
Buffy wrote down Anya's number for him, then went back outside to finish   
ripping Xander a new one.  
***  
At Buffy's loft, Spike was flipping through a stack of CDs by the stereo.   
"The Carpenters Christmas, Mariah Carey Christmas, Christmas at the   
soddin' White House, what the hell," he muttered, reading off the titles.   
He sighed, gave up, and pulled a cassette out of his pants pocket. Bing   
Crosby and David Bowie began warbling Little Drummer Boy in eerie   
harmonies. Much better.  
Faith sprang in, looking around. "Where's Buffy?"  
"Taking Harris to obedience school, or else there was some sort of shoe   
sale extravaganza," he said. "Who listens..."  
She slithered over. "You'll have to do," she said, turning around. "Zip me   
up? Got a date with a rad guy named John later. Or was it Joe? No, Brian,   
that was it."  
Spike reluctantly pulled up the zipper on her skimpy dress. "This is   
certainly not in my job description."  
"No, it's one of the company perks," she smirked.  
A flurrying knock. "Got it," Faith said, opening the door to Anya. "Ah,   
the ghost of Christmas Freaky," she quipped.  
"And the ghost of Christmas Sleazy," Anya retorted. "Nice outfit. Did you   
get it painted on? Must've been expensive. How swanky of you." She waved   
an envelope, dropped it on a nearby table. "See that Buffy gets that,   
would you?" she asked Spike.  
"Anything for you, dearest," he said said sarcastically. "Why in such a   
hurry? Meeting your amphetamine dealer, bouncy one?"  
"Not that it's any of your business, but I have a luncheon appointment,"   
Anya replied, "set up very kindly by Ms. Summers herself."  
Faith choked back a laugh. "She actually found a guy willing to go out   
with you?"  
"Cut the bird some slack, sweets," Spike said. "I'm sure Buffy had to beat   
them off with a stick once they heard her describe the glory that is   
Anya." He broke out into a loud guffaw. "Okay, sorry, I really tried to   
pull that one off straight, but I just couldn't."  
"Ha ha," Anya deadpanned. "It is to laugh! You'll all be singing quite   
another ditty when you get the wedding invitations." She started to leave,   
then turned back. "Oh, no, wait, that's right. I hate you all, so you   
won't be invited. Enjoy much suffering!" she chirped. Faith swung the door   
shut firmly behind her.  
***  
The fight had been put on hold even longer, as Xander begged off claiming   
a meeting. "I swear you can scream at me at the Bronze tonight, okay? Just   
now there's people in suits in my office who don't care if I've hurt my   
girlfriend's feelings."  
So she sat, knees nervously bouncing, hands trying to occupy themselves by   
clutching her coffee mug. Xander, it's - it's over, she said to herself in   
her head. She tried it in several different phrasings, but the thrust of   
the message remained the same.  
And then there he was, all broad-shouldered and affable, and for a   
second... but no, no, Buffy knew what she had to do.  
"Sorry I'm late," he said, sitting down.  
"No, it's okay," she said, a little coldly. "I know how you were probably   
off picking out a bunny."  
Xander sighed. "Look, Buff, with the whole European vacation thing... I   
don't like to argue."  
"You think I'm crazy about it?"  
He didn't answer, just took her in a moment. "You look really... god,   
Buff, you look beautiful tonight," he said.  
"Not gonna work this time, mister," she said, sitting up straighter. "We   
can't just get on with make-up sex just so you can be let off the hook   
here."  
"I know. And that's why we need to stop seeing each other."  
She hadn't heard him. "This is hard for me to say, but..." Then she   
realized. "Wait, what?!"  
"We should break up," he repeated.  
"Hold on there, cowboy, no, no, no, not how the plan was laid out!"   
Buffy's eyes darted around in disbelief. "I was supposed to do the dumping   
here tonight!"  
"Aw, that's... c'mon, you don't need to try to save face with --"  
"Seriously! I was! I had this whole speech and--"  
"Fine!" Xander threw up his hands. "Go ahead, I'm here. Dump me."  
She frowned. "You took all the fun out of it."  
He rolled his eyes. "Whatever..."  
"Whatever!" Buffy emitted a huffy "harumph" of frustration and stalked   
out.  
Xander sat there alone, looked down at Buffy's unfinished coffee. A faint   
trace of pink lipstick ringed one side of the mug. "Don't think it was   
easy to do, hon," he whispered. "I just don't deserve you."  
***  
An hour and a half later, Faith went into Buffy's apartment to find its   
resident lying on the floor of the living room. "B! I rushed over and..."   
She regarded Buffy carefully. "Um, why precisely are you on the ground?"  
Buffy held up a tumblerful of thick white liquid. "Eggnog?" she offered   
Faith.  
Faith studied the cup suspiciously, bent over and sniffed it. "Phew, girl,   
that's like straight rum!"  
Buffy pulled the cup back, took a little sip. "I knew there was something   
funny about Mom's recipe."  
Silently, Faith moved to the kitchenette and began making coffee. Buffy   
slowly peeled herself off the hardwoods.  
"Faith, did you ever get dumped?" she asked with a whimper.  
"Nope!" Faith answered automatically, then turned and saw Buffy's crumpled   
face. "I mean, um, sure loads of times! A girl's just gotta bounce back!"  
"Bounce back, blah! I don't need to bounce back!" She took a longer swig   
from the "eggnog" cup.  
"Okay, somebody's had enough," Faith said, lifting the cup out of Buffy's   
hands and pouring the contents down the sink.  
Buffy hiccupped. "Yes, enough. Enough of that stupid boy!"  
Faith put a hand comfortingly on Buffy's shoulder. "Xander split? For good   
this time?"  
Buffy nodded sadly, but then looked back up at her friend with a strange   
gleam in her eyes. "I want revenge," she said.  
Faith frowned. The coffee was ready, and she poured Buffy a cup. "Calm   
down and think about this a little before you do anything rash."  
Buffy took the cup, but didn't drink from it. She moved to her drawing   
table and sat down at it. "Not slash-your-tires kind of revenge," she   
assured Faith. "Just something that'll make him squirm uncomfortably for a   
while." She tapped a pencil against the desk.  
"You could mock him in your comic book," Faith said with a shrug.  
An evil grin spread out across Buffy's face. She began to draw furiously.  
When she was finished, Xander's distinctive likeness had been immortalized   
as a cross-dressing vampire named "Freak Boy" with a secret love of disco   
and four-inch stiletto heels. Comic book Buffy staked him in the last   
panel with a pithy "Pink is really not your color."   
"Welcome to the dark side, B," Faith said approvingly.  
***  
Spike climbed the three flights up to his barren studio apartment. He   
carried a bag of groceries, although "groceries" tonight consisted   
entirely of a six-pack of beer, carton of smokes, and Altoids. When one   
was low on cash, one had to stick to the staple necessities.  
When he reached his door, though, there was a little figure huddled in   
front of it, head bent down, crying, strawberry curls shining in the dim   
light of the hallway.  
"What the..." he started. "Anya?"  
She raised her head, tears on her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered.  
"What're you doing here? How'd you even know where I live?"   
She sniffled. He held out a hand for her to pull herself to her feet. "Saw   
you coming home one night. Usually I'd then avoid the place like the   
plague but..." She started crying again.  
I can't believe I'm doing this, Spike thought. He unlocked the door and   
held it open wide for her. "Come in, pull yourself together, dizz." He   
pointed to a chair, which she flopped into, and he sat opposite her,   
looking and waiting for her to have out with it.  
"I need advice from a guy..." she finally said. "And I don't know any that   
I haven't already dated, so..."  
Spike ran a hand through his hair, trying to decide what tactic to apply   
to this odd development. She was trying hard to calm down, but little sobs   
still came out.   
Bloody hell.  
He sighed, then regarded her sternly. "If you tell anybody I was nice to   
you, I'll spread a rumor that you have a bizarre Muppet fetish," he said.  
Her eyes became slightly twinkly, and she looked up. "Muppets?" she said   
somewhat brightly.  
"But in a nasty deviant way," he added. "Now, come on, what's the matter?   
Tell old Spike."  
Anya swallowed. "That guy Buffy set me up with," she said. "He was super   
dreamy and quite the affable fellow, but at the end of our date..."  
"He blew you off."  
"Politely, but yes." She rubbed at the tears that were starting to form   
again. Spike handed her a tissue, with which she blew her nose loudly   
before continuing. "That's not even the worst of it!" she declared.  
Spike cocked his head. "What would that be, then?"  
"I'm still in love with --"  
"Harris."  
Anya gasped in surprise. "How'd you know?"  
"You two blockheads have that whole snipey-little-kids exchange thing down   
too well for you not to still be in love with him," he replied. "Classic   
repressed flirtation."  
"So what do I do?"  
Help me break them up, Spike thought, but knew... ah, sod it, he had to be   
Responsible Uncle Spike right now.   
"Try to get over him," he said quietly. "Xander's with Buffy now."  
When Anya left at last, somewhat more pulled together and vowing never to   
speak of her uncharacteristic crying on his shoulder, Spike walked over to   
the painting propped up on his easel. He carefully took it down, wrapped   
it in silver foil, and added a poofy red bow to the present. From his   
desk, he took an index card, trimmed it down to a tiny white square.  
"Buffy," he scrawled on it with a flourish of his pen.  
He held the card to his lips for the briefest of moments before tucking it   
under the bow.  
***  
"So in the archives of all the great office Christmas parties, this   
one..."  
"Sucks pretty damn hard, I'd say," Spike said with a smirk. Buffy nodded   
sadly, the bells on her Santa hat jingling.   
"Before I go though," Spike said, getting down from the stool at the   
counter of the kitchenette. "I have something for you..."  
"You got me a present?" Buffy said with surprise.  
Spike shyly handed her the silver-wrapped package. "Happy Christmas," he   
said, handing it to her.  
Buffy smiled up at him, then opened the gift. She gave a tiny gasp. "It's   
beautiful..." she murmured. "It's..."  
"London," Spike told her.  
"You... you gave me London?"  
"Figured you could see a preview of it before your trip," he said.  
Buffy smiled sadly. "We're not going," she said, "so, actually, this is...   
this is my trip." She gazed with wonder at the watercolor skyline.  
Spike saw something in her expression that told him... no, he couldn't   
hope that... and yet it broke his heart just a little to see her so sad.   
He knelt beside her and tried to project calm nonchalance as he pointed   
out the various landmarks to her.  
By the time he finished, there were little glinty tears in her eyes. "It's   
beautiful," she said. "So, uh, what are you doing for the holidays?"  
Spike shrugged. "Same thing I do every damn day, pet. Try to hermit as   
much as possible, never setting foot in daylight. And you?"  
"Mom bought me a plane ticket home at the last minute," Buffy said with a   
choked little laugh. "She seems to think I'm needing vast amounts of   
comfort foods." She followed Spike as he headed for the door, and the two   
stood there a moment.   
Spike looked at her little heart-shaped face, trying not to notice how   
wide and deeply green her eyes were, desperately trying to come up with a   
brash little quip that would break the spell of the moment, but nothing   
came to him as he spiralled further, deeper, into her eyes.  
"So," he whispered.  
A hint of a smile played across her lips. "So... oh!" Buffy glanced up.   
"We're under the..."  
"Mistletoe," Spike finished. "Ah..." He steeled himself for bravery,   
slowly leaned down, and her lips met his in a small, soft kiss. Perfectly   
innocent, he tried to tell himself despite the little rush it gave him.  
"Merry Christmas, Spike," Buffy said. Spike noted a hint of dreaminess in   
her voice, then jumped in irritation as he sensed someone behind him.  
"Buffy," Xander said in greeting.  
"Xander." Buffy was surprised, and looked slightly fearful.  
"Spike," Xander said, turning.  
"Harris." Spike tensed, unconsciously balling his hands into fists.  
Faith's door swung open, and her dark haired head popped out. "Xander?"   
she asked, confused.  
"Faith," Xander nodded at her.  
Faith scowled and rolled her eyes. "Ugh, Xander." She disappeared back   
behind her door.  
"Well, now that the gang's all here, um, Buff, can I come in?" Xander   
asked.  
Spike shut his eyes a moment, cocked his head and tried to shrug off the   
distaste he felt at leaving Buffy and Xander alone. "Right, I was just...   
got somewhere to..." His words trailed off as he slunk toward the lift.  
As the elevator doors closed, Buffy felt a distinct sense of   
disappointment. She sighed and opened the door wider for Xander, who   
stepped inside. "What do you want?" she asked him curtly.  
"Buffy, I just wanted to --"  
"I don't want to hear anything from you," she interrupted. "Everything's   
done."  
"Come on, can't we do the friend thing?" Xander pleaded.  
Buffy folded her arms in front of her, shooting him a hard, cold glare.   
"You've proven you're incapable of that."  
Xander looked down sadly, then pulled an envelope out of the pocket of his   
jacket. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said. "Maybe this will help,   
though." He handed the envelope to Buffy.  
She opened it with trepidation, then gasped. "Two tickets to London?"  
"You can use 'em anytime," Xander explained. "You know, take somebody...   
special with you."  
"Xand, this is... this is really sweet and --" A thought suddenly occurred   
to her, and her eyes widened in horror. "Oh, god, seriously, y-you really   
shouldn't have done this!"  
Xander looked at her with a confused frown. "Why? What should I have done,   
something mean and petty?"  
"Well, hey, that's one way to go..." Buffy said guiltily.  
***  
A week later, Xander was still answering worried phone calls from friends   
and family. "Mom, Mom, c'mon, chill!" he was begging, the infamous "Freak   
Boy" Buffy comic ripped to little shreds on his desk. "It's just a comic   
book! I did not take your plaid skirt!"  
***  
Spike sat by himself at a table at the Bronze, half-finished Guinness in   
front of him, cigarette burning to the filter untouched in the ashtray. He   
was grinning as he scanned the last page for the eight hundredth time.   
Never get tired of that Freak Boy, he thought happily.   
He looked up, grin still in place as Buffy breezed through the door. She   
smiled and waved as she caught sight of him and started for his table.  
New year might be all right after all, he decided. 


End file.
